"She can sail—if she can't do nothen else," was all he said.
I flung the log-ship overboard.
"Turn!" I cried out.
I saw the knots fibbing out like a string of beads. The reel roared in the boatswain's hands, and when Stevens called "Stop!" I caught the line and allowed it to jam me against the rail, as though the weight of it, dragged through the water at the phenomenal speed at which we were supposed to be going, would haul me overboard.
"What's that knot there, Mr. Stevens?" I called out. "Bear a hand! the line is cutting my fingers in halves!"
He put down the sand-glass and laid hold of the line where the knot was, and began to count.
"Fifteen!" he roared.
"Well, I'm jiggered!" exclaimed the man steering.
I looked at Stevens triumphantly, as though I should say, "What do you think of that?"
"I told you you wur wrong, Mr. Royle," said the boatswain. "It's all fifteen. By jingo! it ain't sailing, it's engine drivin'!"